


Mirror (Mirror)

by reviloo



Category: Twosetviolin
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Pre-Relationship, also a bunch of time skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:47:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21533959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reviloo/pseuds/reviloo
Summary: The longer you spend with someone, the more you adapt their behaviors and mannerisms, whether it's a conscious choice or not.
Relationships: Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 16
Kudos: 126





	Mirror (Mirror)

"Y-Your shirt-”

Brett shrugged. “So what?”

And just like that, he returned his attention to the array of algebra problems in front of him. Eddy’s face glowed red as he scanned his surroundings; while mostly everyone was working on their sheets, he couldn’t help but notice the select few that were staring at the two teenagers in the back, both of whom were wearing neon yellow shirts with the bold, blue logo of their orchestra in the front.

He put his head down and took a deep breath, struggling to focus on the quadratics in front of him. Maybe someday he’d be as good as Brett was at algebra, but Eddy wished that in front of him was geometry to distract him from the judging eyes. He preferred occupying his head with visualizations of shapes instead of seeing variable after variable after variable. Eddy wanted to know who put letters in math in the first place - it was, to him, a terrible idea that made no sense whatsoever.

Eddy was still stuck on the first problem when Brett tapped him on the shoulder. He glanced over and watched as Brett slid his paper closer to Eddy without a word.

He didn’t hesitate before copying the answers.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no big deal.” Brett grinned.

* * *

Someone asked them to play the Bach Double while they were busking - an odd request, they thought, but one that they would take anyways since they wanted the twenty dollar note clasped in the stranger’s hand. Eddy widened his eyes as he glanced down at the few coins that littered the bottom of Brett’s case; him and Brett were both nearing the end of their high school years, and there was nothing more they wanted than that note to get bubble tea as a celebration.

Brett pushed the stand off to the side. “Do you want to play second this time?”

“Yeah, if that’s fine by you.”

“Mhm.”

Eddy took a quick breath and started. His eyes shut once he began to fall into the music as he imagined an entire section of violins playing the part right behind him, supporting his tiny sound in the middle of the shopping mall. In his mind was an orchestra behind him and Brett, watching the two of them fit into each other’s playing like they normally would after too many years of knowing each other.

It didn’t feel too long though, since the very first time he met Brett. The years flew by rather quickly, and while Brett knew that he was definitely going to conservatory here at home, Eddy only hoped that he could do the same. He hoped that he was good enough, that his audition pieces would be enough for him to enter the same conservatory as the legendary Brett Yang.

When Brett started playing, Eddy held his breath.

His eyes fluttered open, meeting Brett’s intense gaze. Eddy continued to play, breaking into a small smile as he realized that Brett was emphasizing certain notes that Eddy would have had he been playing first; their parts sounded even more cohesive than it had ever been. They continued to watch each other as the imaginary orchestra continued to support their two soloists, with both of them adjusting their phrasing to better suit their partner’s.

They ended the first movement with sweat rolling down their faces. Brett was the first one to break the spell of tranquility that followed the piece once he grinned widely and set down his instrument, his eyes on Eddy the entire time.

Eddy lowered his violin and smiled. “That wasn’t too bad.”

“Yeah, that really wasn’t.” Brett wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and turned to face the stranger. “I guess everyone agrees, huh?”

Eddy spun around. Surrounding the two of them was a true audience of too many people, some with slacked jaws and widened eyes as they stared at the two boys. His smile grew even wider once he felt a sweaty palm clasp his hand and the two of them fall into a long bow while the audience clapped for what seemed like hours.

* * *

“You always get the same thing.”

Eddy shrugged, stabbing his straw through the plastic cover. “It tastes good.”

Brett continued to stand in front of the cash register, his hands holding the menu and reading it as if it were a foreign text. His brows were furrowed, struggling to decide what he wanted before they had to return to conservatory for class. Eddy watched, taking a sip of his drink as Brett pondered over what was very clearly the most important decision of his life.

Eventually, he walked up to the register. “Medium coconut milk tea with bubbles, please.”

Eddy stopped chewing the boba once he heard Brett. He was mid-chew when he raised an eyebrow at the familiarity of the drink order. He glanced down at the cup of white milk tea with bubbles in his hand, before looking back up at a stone-faced Brett.

“Did you just-”

“You said it was good, so I decided to give it a try.” He pocketed the change and stepped back as Eddy continued to try and process what had just happened.

* * *

Brett’s Tchaikovsky was absolutely beautiful, and Eddy could fall asleep listening to the man practice it for hours at a time. And he definitely did; it wasn’t hard for him to start dozing off once he heard Brett tuning every note or experimenting with phrasing from the room next door. At some point, Eddy had grown so accustomed to hearing Brett practice at night that he could have sworn he was dreaming about Brett’s practice sessions, too.

“Bro,” Eddy yawned, “what time did you practice until?”

Brett shrugged, picking up the cup of coffee that Eddy made on the table. “Maybe one or so.”

“You can’t keep doing that; you’re not getting enough rest.”

“My debut’s in a few months.”

Eddy frowned. He picked up his own mug of coffee and took a huge sip, shaking his head as he did so. “Keep going like this and you’ll fall asleep during the second movement of Tchaik in your own debut.”

“That would be impressive.” A smile tugged at the corner of Brett’s mouth. “Imagine if I actually did that?”

Eddy didn’t bother to continue the conversation after that.

It wasn’t until a few months later, after Eddy had witnessed Brett play the entire concerto on stage so beautifully, that Eddy started the learn the concerto as well. The initial process of learning the individual notes was slow, but once he did, he began to fall back on the music and slowly comb through the phrasing.

He knew exactly how he wanted the opening to sound. Whenever he shut his eyes, he could hear the notes in his head, ever so clear and clean. He knew which notes he wanted to emphasize, where he wanted to take some time, and where he wanted to grow softer or louder; this piece would be his by the end of the journey. Eddy would own this piece and make sure that it made both Tchaikovsky and Brett proud - the last thing he wanted was for the piece that Brett played on the best night of his life to be ruined by Eddy’s poor interpretations.

“Hey,” Brett yawned as he stepped into the little practice room, “it’s nearly two.”

“I’ll sleep in a bit.”

(That was a lie.)

Eddy continued to play. He played until he perfected the opening and knew it as well as he did the back of his hand. It sounded something that was acceptable, if not near-perfect other than a few intonation errors that Eddy had to fix. He let out a quiet sigh and fell back against a chair as he loosened his bow and put it back in his case.

Eddy was completely unaware that the perfect opening he spoke of sounded just like Brett Yang’s.

* * *

“Merry Christmas.”

Brett shoved a little red box in Eddy’s hand, averting his gaze. It was neatly wrapped with a golden bow adorning the top, and Eddy’s eyes glittered at the sight of it. He broke out into a grin as he pulled the bow off and carefully removed the paper - Eddy liked saving all of his wrapping paper; he didn’t know why - to reveal a white box underneath.

He raised an eyebrow, glancing back up at the red Brett. “What is this for?”

“Check it yourself.”

Eddy opened the lid. In the box was something that resembled a bracelet: it was made of black elastic that strung together many wooden beads, each one of them intricately carved and patterned. Eddy’s gaze lightened at the sight of the anklet and lifted it up. He held it by the very edge of a bead as if it were a national treasure.

“This looks really good,” he mumbled, “thank you, Brett.”

Brett smiled slightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Without hesitation, he reached down and slipped it on his ankle. He stood back up, setting the now-empty box off to the side; he wanted to wear the anklet for the rest of his life if it was from Brett. “Anyways, shall we film?”

“I- uh-” Brett’s face was still bright red, and Eddy had to try to not burst out into laughter at how flustered he was. “Uh- yeah, sure. Let’s start.”

“Alright.”

As they walked over to their setup, Eddy pretended to not notice the same strand of beads that were wrapped around Brett’s ankle. He was almost, if not completely, certain that the anklet wasn’t there until just this morning.

* * *

They couldn’t keep tying scissors-paper-rock every single round. It had been - how many rounds? Eddy couldn’t remember, but he was completely aware that both of them were sitting in a restaurant with the bill in front of them, playing the game over and over again to determine who _wouldn’t_ be paying for the meal as everyone else in the restaurant stared at the duo.

_Scissors-paper-rock!_

Both of them played rock. 

Both of them sighed as they tried again.

* * *

“What’s this for?”

“I figured you were always cold,” Eddy managed to say, lying through his gritted teeth. “You always wore the jumpers over your shirt even when it was fairly warm-”

Brett frowned, his gaze focused on the pink hoodie that was in his arms. “We’re not _all_ warm-blooded like you.”

“So I got you something. Happy birthday, bro.”

He shifted in his own pink jacket as Brett stared at the bright bundle of cloth. The wrapping paper was shredded, its remains scattered on the side, something that the two of them would deal with later. The longer the two of them stood in silence, the more on edge Eddy was - did Brett not like the color, perhaps? Did he not like the hoodie itself? Was he expecting better? He couldn’t help but be afraid as the seconds slowly ticked by, until Brett grinned and slipped the hoodie over his shirt.

“This is awesome.” He readjusted his glasses and smiled wide. “Thank you, Eddy.”

Eddy grinned _._ “It’s no big deal.”

* * *

Eddy poked his head out of his bedroom door, only to see Brett in the _I Need to Practice_ shirt and the Musician jumper that was most definitely stolen from Eddy’s closet the last time he was here to film. His hair was still a mess and his eyes puffy from having just woken up fifteen minutes ago, when Brett had texted him that he was now coming over.

“It’s like,” he yawned, “ten in the morning.”

“I figured I would come a little earlier.”

Eddy groaned. “Let me change and I’ll be ready to film. Give me a few minutes or so.”

“Alright.”

Some things would never change: Brett would always be the early bird and Eddy would always be the night owl; Brett would always be known as the person who had dreams and Eddy as the person with the very interesting haircut as a teenager; Brett would always have the perfect pizz and Eddy would always have the perfect pitch; Brett would always be Eddy’s role model and Eddy would always be Brett’s.

Eddy sighed, shutting the bedroom door behind him and pulling out a random shirt and jacket from his closet. He threw them both on and walked out in his boxers (the fans wouldn’t see his pants anyways), rubbing his eyes as he walked into the kitchen.

“Do you want anything to drink?”

Brett shrugged. His voice rang from the living room. “Do you have tea?”

“Yeah. I only have green tea though.”

“That’s fine.”

Some things would always change: Brett never liked green tea until Eddy introduced him to it; Eddy never liked heading to clubs until Brett dragged him there; Eddy never liked working in groups until Brett entered his life. He hummed quietly to himself as he waited for the water to start boiling on the stove.

He continued to stand there, checking his phone for any updates, when Brett stepped in.

“Uh-” His voice faltered. “Eddy?”

Eddy glanced up. “Huh?”

“Y-Your shirt-”

Eddy glanced back down at his own shirt - the _I Need to Practice_ shirt, the exact same one that Brett was also wearing. His face turned a little pink before he shrugged, returning his attention to Brett’s flushed cheeks and widened eyes. 

“So what?” He grinned. “Does it matter?”

“I mean, no, but-”

The kettle began to whistle, interrupting Brett’s speech. Eddy turned off the stove and began to pour the boiling water into both mugs, watching the water slowly change color from the tea bags in them.

“In that case,” he set the kettle down and picked up both mugs, “let’s film.”

He sauntered out of the kitchen, waiting for Brett to follow like he always would.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by some of the cool tsv writers out there c: thank you for being very interesting (in the best way possible) <3
> 
> tried my hand at fluff once again! thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!


End file.
